Blood on My Hands
by PrescitedEntity
Summary: [PRDT] Trent's suicide forces the other rangers to confront uncomfortable truths about their past together: all the would, could, and should haves. Some things can't be buried in the passage of time. Hopefully, not too derivative or trite.
1. The Almost Lover

A/N: Good god. SO. MUCH. ANGST. There's your warning. Can't believe I'm writing for PR again. So different from my other DT fic. No, no slash within.

I'd noticed a number of fics which had Tommy attempting to commit suicide, both successful and not. Thing is, he had almost the immediate and full support of the other rangers. Trent was ostracized from beginning to end, never quite fitting in to the last, not to mention that he struggled with his problems for much longer while being fully cognizant during the control, so I was a bit stunned that there hadn't been such a fic concerning him yet. And thus this angsty mess was born.

* * *

** The Almost Lover**

He's dead.

I heard it over the phone as I readied for school, my textbooks still splayed out over the floor – the pained voice of Mr. Mercer, attempting to hide away the remnants of the sobbing that had wracked his body at the loss of his surrogate son. He'd known how close we were, that we'd been dancing the dance of love, and felt that I had to hear before it reached me, corrupted, through other sources.

My knuckles went white as I clutched the phone tighter and tighter, his words no more than a buzzing against the din of blood's furious pounding on my eardrums. I sank to my knees, heart and mind racing, empty, disbelieving.

In the chaotic clamor of sound, the rush of thoughts, and the flood of memories, I knew only one thing – Trent was dead.

Dead. The single thought brought me back into agonizing reality, and I heard Mr. Mercer whisper a few words intended to comfort, even as his own hurt was palpable. He told me I was welcome in his home, and that if I needed anything at all… his voice broke, leaving the sentence hanging. Hurriedly mumbling a goodbye before he lost composure, he hung up. Silence filled the room, deafening.

Vaguely, I recalled the word suicide. And I knew why he did it.

He had been the White Dino Ranger, evil and devastatingly powerful. More than once he threatened our lives while under the influence of that cursed gem. Even when that control was broken, distrust lingered on, and I saw how it hurt him, more than any physical blow we or any monster had ever landed on him. He worked to atone for the white ranger's misdeeds even when it was clear that he had no control over it all… Or, at least, it was clear to me.

The others weren't as sympathetic. Dr. Oliver was willing to trust him readily enough, something that seemed odd even to me, but Ethan had his misgivings, and Conner flat-out objected to Trent's being one of us to the very end. I remembered speaking with him once, during our rangerhood. He'd just asked for our acceptance, willing to do whatever it took to gain our trust. Conner flatly refused to give him even a chance. A memory of a conversation between Trent and I after one argument played in my mind.

"I guess some things can never be forgiven," he'd mumbled, expression as vulnerable as a child's.

"Give them time," I'd insisted, "They'll come around."

He'd only given me a wistful smile in return. It seems their distrust in him made him too cynical to trust me.

I loved him. God, why is that so easy to say now – now that it doesn't mean anything anymore? But I loved him, and I'd like to think that he loved me at least a little, too, even if he couldn't quite trust me. He was misguided, but his goodness shone even through it all, if dimly and obscured by the darkness of the tainted White Dino Gem. I wish he'd have come to us earlier – maybe Dr. Oliver or Hayley or someone could have done something for him to keep it all from careening into the mess it was, and we could've given him our confidence. I wish he'd trusted us with the secret about his father, though I understand why he didn't – distrust begets distrust. I wish he came to me yesterday, given me the chance to dissuade him. I wish…

But it's all useless, dust on the wind.

My cheeks were wet – I'd been crying unawares, tears streaking silently down my cheeks. I dry them with my hands; the wetness leaks into my fist. Now slippery, the phone escapes my fist, dropping to the floor.

I went to school in spite of it all, needing to see the others. No reason why – I just I needed to. Dr. Oliver called both Ethan and I to his office; Conner was already there. I guess he heard first it from our mentor, since Dr. Oliver had his arms around him, and for good reason – Conner looked like he was about to break down. I felt a surge of hatred towards him. He'd been the worst, his animosity the strongest, but it was quelled by his expression as he lifted his head to us. His eyes held the same pain that Trent's had, guilty and despondent. The hate dissipated. I couldn't have mustered it again if I tried, and didn't want to. Hate, along with distrust, had already mortally wounded one person. I won't let claim another, no matter how much I loved Trent, how much I wished he was with us, in the way that he hadn't ever been. God, if only we could do it all over, rewind the tape, turn back the clock! If only...

As his only pillar, I wasn't strong enough.

For failing, his blood is on my hands.

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A/N: So, how was that for the first piece of angst in a year? Not quite doing Trent and the genre honor, but passable, I hope. 


	2. The Not quite Friend

**The Not-quite Friend**

He's dead.

I heard it over the news in the morning, as I finished my toast in front of the TV – the anchorman's face a mask of sadness that he didn't personally feel, but had to put on for the camera. The anchorwoman shook her head sympathetically as he spoke, hand over her mouth as though grieving. Meanwhile, I'd donned a mask, too, one of complete impassiveness.

Channels blipped by on the television – a talk show, a reality show, a cartoon; I'd shifted over the remote. Without willing it, my hand reached for the remote, and I felt the knot in the pit of my stomach twist further at each channel as the numbers on the screen neared the news station's, until finally, it was there.

The words scrolled – inched – by along the bottom of the screen – "Reefside High student Trent Fernandez commits suicide."

Suicide. He'd committed suicide. The thought floated around my head, which refused it entry. The sound of familiar, nervous laughter filled the room, and I briefly wondered whose it was before recognizing it as my own. My god. I slunk down, the sofa's soft cushions engulfing me.

Trent had committed suicide. And I knew why he did it.

Using the White Dino Gem as a scapegoat would be so incredibly easy. It certainly invaded his mind, took control, turned him into a deathly powerful weapon against us, and made him our enemy, someone we'd have eliminated as a threat to the world. It made him impossible to trust. It made him do what he did to garner our hate while he was under its insidious influence. Yes, convenient... a convenient lie.

For one thing, no such external forces acted on us, yet we wouldn't accept him after he'd broken free. Granted, the suspicion was wholly warranted; it'd have been stupid not to have reservations about his loyalties, especially given the weight of the situation. But even after, we didn't make it easy for him. Kira welcomed him – she was inanely smitten, but in the end, right. Dr. Oliver accepted it quietly – only at that moment did I suddenly wonder exactly why, and decided that he had seen something in Trent or had to deal with a similar situation in the past, irrelevant now, anyway – but didn't give much in the way of overt support. Conner never fully came around to accepting him. I was ambivalent. A past dialogue comes to mind, from before the final battle.

"Ethan, why are you accepting my help?" I'd thought it was a stupid question to ask – gift horse and mouth and all – and almost told him so when I saw the almost desperate imploring look on his face.

"'Cause Kira and Dr. O are," I answered with a shrug, giving him the blunt truth.

A brief flash of pain in his eyes disappeared as he nodded wordlessly, faintly smiling. He opened his mouth as if to say more, but no words came.

I don't regret my demeanor towards him, nor feel remorse at not welcoming him into our little group, even as Kira tried her hardest to bring him in. I neither supported him like Kira, nor denounced him as Conner did – I didn't side either way, for the most part. Maybe that's the worst, when one's desire for acceptance is met with nothing at all, but it's justifiable considering the barrier of our collective past, and we did become friends, eventually. Never close friends, as the matter of his almost killing us drove a wedge between him and I that couldn't so easily be dislodged, but a friend. What had gone wrong? What more could I have done? What else was there to do? What more could be asked of me?

I don't know, but it's all a raindrop in the ocean, anyway.

Suddenly, belatedly, fury rose in me – it's his fault, their fault, my fault. The mask shatters. I throw the remote at the wall, denting both, then pound the table. No. It was no one's fault, and everyone's fault.

I sought Kira out in the hallways before class, surprised to actually find her. She stared blankly at me, weariness the only thing I sensed from her. I'd opened my mouth to speak, but the intercom cut me off, calling the both of us down to Dr. Oliver's office. The door opened to reveal our mentor and Conner; I was stunned at how broken the latter looked, considering how antagonistic he'd been towards Trent in the past. I turned to Kira. She radiated a hatred that I knew to be directed at Conner, but it faded when he looked up at her. Dr. Oliver monitored the two warily despite how worn he himself was, lines of worry etched on his face. At that moment, I became acutely aware of how it felt to be the outsider, because I stood alone, unnoticed, silently and unintentionally excluded.

It was the same cold feeling I must have given him.

In whatever amount, his blood is on my hands.

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A/N: Personally, I liked this chapter a lot more and found it easier to write, because Kira's feelings were so obvious and whatnot that her character was dull to tackle from a writing standpoint. Ethan's lukewarm response to Trent made this a hell of a fun character study. 

For the record, I'm now using this as my project for my AP Lit class's project on literary styles, so expect parallelism in structure, symbolism – the works. Hope I get a good grade, and that the teacher doesn't think less of me because it's PR. XD


	3. The Stubborn minded Detractor

**The ****Stubborn-minded**** Detractor**

He's dead.

I heard it from Dr. Oliver in his office, having been called there for before the first class over the intercom for a "special conference" – not once before had I seen him so shaken, even when his own life was imperiled. Before he even spoke, I noticed that his eyes were bloodshot, his shoulders drooping – he was discomposed, and it sent a wave of terror through me, since he was our mentor, our rock, never wavering.

My backpack fell to the ground, the opening in zipper widening and giving way at the force of the impact; binders, notebooks, folders, textbooks, and pens tumbled out, a messy heap on the floor. Paralyzed, I said nothing, didn't move – couldn't, as though encased in stone. Something was terribly wrong.

Lowly and somberly, trying to remain strong for my sake yet unable to fully disguise his own torment, he murmured, "Trent is dead."

Dead. The word rung hollowly in my ears as Dr. Oliver stood stiffly, obviously not knowing what to do next. I heard myself ask, tone frighteningly level, "How?"

"Last night, he committed suicide." And I knew why he did it.

The White Dino Ranger- evil and fearsome and strong, stronger than any of us. Trent was the White Dino Ranger, and the White Dino Ranger was him. There had been no separation in my mind – the quiet, withdrawn, fellow teenaged boy and the enemy who literally beat us into the dirt were one and the same, needing to be defeated. In time, it became a personal vendetta as our confrontations increased – me or him, him or me.

When Kira accepted him, I felt betrayed, as though accepting him was a stab in the back, but at that time, Ethan was with me against him. And while the distrust in his allegiance died after the final battle, a new resentment replaced it; before the end, Kira, Ethan, and Dr. Oliver had all given him their support, if begrudgingly. A strong antagonism derived from logic was replaced by a weaker but more lasting one rising out of jealousy; I barred him from fully entering the group with my standoffish stance and biting remarks and cold glowers when the others weren't paying attention. Even after it was all said and done, nothing was forgiven, not because I couldn't, but because I wouldn't. A question from him after he had joined our group seared in my mind.

"Is there anything – _anything_ – that I could do to get your trust?" he'd asked, tone almost pleading.

"No." A single cold, harsh word with a frigid glare as a response, and I walked off, not even waiting for a reaction.

It was only through peripheral sight that I caught his look of utter hopelessness. It'd disappeared in the frenzied battle to come, hidden away as much by him as by the ranger helmet he wore.

Goddammit! I was an idiot, a dumb jerk of a jock. Everyone else had grown past who they'd been before rangerhood, matured enough to forgive him, but I hadn't – I remained obstinately and stupidly hostile because I couldn't stand his bruising my ego. Though it was far from the only reason, that it was a reason tore at me, and I slammed both fists into the wall, hanging my head. My mouth went dry; I felt hot tears of hurt, shame, pain, grief, and most of all, overwhelming guilt sting at my eyes. Trent's evilness had been at the will of the corrupted Dino Gem; mine had been all too human, all me. I was a bastard – a stupid, mean, worthless bastard! I slumped down. All the hatred I'd directed towards him in the past now fell back on me, and I felt a sharp ache rack my chest with each heaved sob, unable to hold them back. I was a bastard, a son of a bitch, a motherfucking asshole.

But he was the one gone, and anything I felt was now just tinder in a flame.

I slammed the wall again, then again, red welts forming on my hands before Dr. Oliver spun me around, forcing me to meet his gaze. His eyes betrayed pain and exhaustion, and for whatever reason, mirrored at least some of the guilt in mine. Awkwardly, he embraces me, and for once, I'm not too embarrassed to allow such a gesture, burying myself in it for a moment as I fought to regain some semblance of composure.

He called Kira and Ethan over the intercom when my crying stopped, and I was vaguely grateful that he'd had the foresight and consideration to call me here first, somehow guessing that I'd be the mess that I was. By Kira's dull eyes and Ethan's evasive ones, I realized that they had to have known already. At the sight of me, Kira's expression exuded hatred, stronger than any that I'd ever seen before, even my own towards Trent. I knew I deserved every bit of it. Glad for Dr. Oliver's lingering hug – I'd have fallen apart without his support – I gathered the courage to lift my head at them, hoping fervently, desperately that they didn't completely despise me, and was shocked to see Kira's expression soften. Tears streamed down her face as she stepped forward and slapped me, but there was no malice in her eyes – only agony and loss.

I felt like a murderer, guilty and irredeemable.

Staining all of me, his blood is on my hands.

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A/N: This was annoyingly difficult. I couldn't get a grasp on Conner's voice, so I settled on getting what I thought would be the right emotions across. 


End file.
